


Coffee and a Red Bowtie

by meganthewriter



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meganthewriter/pseuds/meganthewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John take Molly to see an incredible man in suspenders and a red bow tie. Little do they know, Molly and the man really hit it off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and a Red Bowtie

Molly leans over the exam table, reaching as far as she can to spray the disinfectant evenly over the stainless steel surface. “Wednesdays,” she mumbles. “It's always the stab victims on Wednesdays.”  
“And the gunshot victims on Thursdays!” a deep voice rings from the hallway.  
“Sherlock," Molly exclaims, reaching her hand out for a handshake, only to have it refused by the consulting detective. It's been a while since he had paid her a visit. “It's a pleasure.”  
“The pleasure is all ours,” John says, striding into the room and returning Molly's handshake. Sherlock flounces over to a microscope, sets down a pre-made Petri dish, and clicks the microscope on.  
“Sorry about that,” John says. “He's very interested in this case. There are hints that the African slave trade never stopped, and we both know that's right up Sherlock's alley.”  
Molly turns to Sherlock, a smile spreading across her face. “Of course.”  
An awkward pause fills the room after that, and Molly returns to her table, scrubbing furiously at the metal until it catches the light and glints back at her. Sherlock studies the Petri dish intently, and John stands just behind him, watching over his back.  
Molly lets the table consume her and gives it another coat of disinfectant.  
She’s on her fourth wipe-down when John clears his throat and walks over to her. “Molly,” he begins.  
Raising her head, Molly gives him a curious look.  
“I know I told you we were here about the slave trade, but there’s another reason on top of that. You see, we know someone who actually took us back in time to see it in action.”  
Molly draws in air. “Took you back in time!?” she exclaims. “Please don’t tell me Sherlock has you hooked on hallucinogens as well.”  
John laughs. “No, nothing like that. He’s actually been drug-free for over a month.”  
Molly raises an eyebrow. “Nicotine patches?”  
“Patch-free.”  
“Good for him,” Molly replies, but her face quickly sets again. “What was this about going back in time?” she asks again.  
“Well,” John says, clipping the end of the word. “I think it’s better if we show you. Sherlock?”  
“I know,” Sherlock blurts. “I've been done for the past thirty-six seconds.”  
“Then let’s go. Molly?”  
She nods. “Yes, let’s go.”  
Honestly, Molly thinks the two men have finally hit their breaking point. Maybe they've been inhaling some sort of drug by accident. They did mention they were going to excavate a cave over in Yorkshire. Who knows what's floating around over there, masked by curls of mist?  
She is startled back into reality when Sherlock grabs her by the wrist and increases the speed of his gait. “You’d think for a man who has all the time in the world,” he says, “he would worry less about the clock. Hurry up. We’re going to be late.”  
Sherlock and John lead Molly through the twisting streets of London, not stopping to hail a cab. They finally stop in front of a large wooden police call box. The deep blue paint is peeling from the sides, and Molly is beginning to have her doubts. “Um, boys,” she begins. “If this is some kind of joke -”  
Much to her surprise, the door to the police call box flies open just then, and a man wearing suspenders and a bright red bow tie steps out. “Ah!” he exclaims. “Sherlock! John! You've brought a friend!”  
Molly gapes up at this man, taken aback from his sudden entrance. “And who are you?” she asks, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her voice.  
The man looks at Sherlock and John like they did something wrong. “You didn't even introduce me?” he asks them. His voice is so genuine, Molly doesn't know if the man is being sarcastic or serious. “I forgot how rude twenty-first century Londoners are,” the man says.  
Something passes over John’s face and he glances at Sherlock. “We apologize, but Molly here needs to see things to believe them.”  
The man turns to Molly and shakes her hand. He has a very strong grip, but still keeps the handshake light and cheery. “Well, Molly, I’m the Doctor! I go by a lot of other names, but this one seems to fit the best, at least for now.”  
“Um, hello, Doctor,” Molly replies. “My name is Molly Hooper, and I do autopsies and such at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. It’s nice to meet you.”  
“And I, you!” the Doctor says back. “Say, how would you like a tour of the old place? She works hard, and I’m rather proud of her.”  
Molly’s eyebrows crinkle. “What old place?”  
The Doctor straightens his bow tie and gestures to the police call box behind him. “The TARDIS, Molly! She’s my one and only!”  
Molly swallows. Deciding to humor the Doctor, she agrees to a full tour.  
She’s made the right decision. For the next hour, the man in the bow tie leads her through the phone box. She has the natural reaction when she first steps into the TARDIS. “This is impossible!” she hears herself exclaim. The whole ordeal feels like a dream, like Molly is walking not on the ground, but a few inches above it.  
“Apologies, but her name’s Sexy,” the Doctor says as he nears a large central console.  
Molly can only shake her head, then nod, then shake her head away. Life feels like it’s going in slow motion.  
Sherlock leans over and whispers something in John’s ear, and the shorter man’s eyes widen and he half-glares back.  
“Okay, so where do you want to go? Or should I say when do you want to go?” the Doctor says with a flourish.  
Sherlock begins to open his mouth and blurt out a location, but John jabs an elbow into his side. “We’re actually, um, good for now,” he says to the Doctor. “I don’t think I can take another trip back in time for a long while.”  
“Oh, you’re sick, aren’t you?” the Doctor asks John. “Well, chin up, boy, you can just take-”  
“Pepto-Bismol,” Molly blurts. Instantly, her face burns red. “Pepto-Bismol and a little Ibuprofen. And milk.” She looks away, getting smaller with every breath.  
The Doctor, clearly taken aback, says nothing. He just stares at Molly in awe. “Molly,” he says, “can we please go out for a coffee? Soon?”  
“Okay, Sherlock, let’s go,” John says, grabbing the detective’s arm before he can make an embarrassing deduction about the two. “I need Pepto-Bismol that hasn't been in your medicine cabinet. I want to get better, not die.”  
“That was one time!” Sherlock complains as John leads him out of the TARDIS.  
Molly waits a couple minutes after the two men walk out to say anything else. When she can get enough courage up to speak, her voice is shaky and anxious. “Of-of course, Doctor, anytime,” she says.  
“Great! How about now?” the Doctor asks, and without waiting for an answer, takes Molly by the hand and runs out of the TARDIS.  
The Doctor seems to be at a loss for direction when he throws the TARDIS door open.  
“There’s a coffee shop a couple streets over,” Molly says, pointing with her right hand, the hand that was still gripping the Doctor’s tightly.  
“Splendid! Let’s get going, then!”  
Molly grins and begins to walk, the Doctor striding beside her.  
When they arrive at said coffee shop, the Doctor studies the sign above the door. “Starbucks,” he reads. “This is nothing like an actual star.”  
“Okay,” Molly replies, still not fully understanding this man. “Just sit down and I’ll get you something. What would you like?”  
“What’s the special?”  
Molly leans to look at the large banner hanging in the window. “From the looks of it, the pumpkin spice latte is all the rage. Makes sense, given the time of year. So, you want that?”  
The Doctor nods.  
“All right, then. Sure makes things easier for me.” She walks up to the counter. “Two pumpkin spice lattes please,” she tells the barista.  
“Of course,” the barista replies. “Name?”  
“Molly.”  
“Okay, Molly, your coffees will be done shortly. Thank you for choosing Starbucks.”  
Molly returns to the table a little after that, coffees in hand. “Trust me,” she says to the Doctor, “you’ll like this.”  
“It smells exquisite. Thank you, Molly.”  
“You’re welcome.”  
An awkward pause ensues, and Molly isn’t sure of what exactly to do. This isn’t her first coffee date, but then again, the coffee isn’t the problem. She’s sure never been on a date with a man much like the Doctor before, and for some reason she feels like she’s tiptoeing on eggshells.  
“This is stupendous, Molly, I swear. I love this,” the Doctor says, breaking Molly’s train of thought. He continues to slurp the coffee, acting quite like a child.  
“Well, thank the barista, not me,” Molly replies. “It’s just that time of year.” She tries to say something else and keep the conversation going, but her gaze rests on the bright red bowtie resting on the Doctor’s collar. “Where did you get that?” she finally asks. “The bowtie.”  
The Doctor stops drinking and looks down at the bowtie. “Just picked it up somewhere. I’m rather fond of it.”  
“It suits you.”  
“Thank you.”  
Biting her lower lip, Molly takes a breath, preparing herself to ask the next question. “So, you and that police call box, do you ever, I don’t know, just decide to settle somewhere?”  
Slowly, the Doctor sets down his coffee. “I wish, Molly, I really do. But I have work to do out in the big, bad, universe. And I’m the only one that can do it.”  
“Oh,” Molly says in a small voice. “Because, um, well, I was thinking-”  
“Oh no! Oh no, this is bad! This is really bad!”  
Molly looked down at the table. “I actually thought it was going quite well, but whatever you think, I guess-”  
“No, Molly, not you! Not this! I just, well, I just have to work again. It’s urgent. Very urgent. I’m very sorry, but I have to leave. Right now.” The Doctor scrambles to stand up, causing a couple of people around them to stare.  
“Doctor, I-”  
“I am so very sorry, okay, Molly. I promise we’ll catch up later. I really don’t want to leave you like this. Please understand me.” The Doctor is looking a lot more frazzled as he talks, and Molly knows that he has to go.  
What she doesn’t know is what comes next.  
“Goodbye, Molly,” the Doctor says, kissing her quickly. Neither of them gets to really savor the kiss, but it leaves Molly with a hope that someday, the Doctor will return and finish it.  
Just before he leaves, the Doctor undoes the bowtie around his neck. “In case I can’t come back,” he says, and presses it into her hand. “I’m rather fond of you.”  
He rushes out the door, leaving Molly with one pumpkin spice latte and a fiery red bowtie.  
All Molly can do is look down at her hand and stare.


End file.
